


The Fifth Door on the Right

by peachaspie



Series: The Fifth Door to the Right [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Other, THIS IS DISCONTINUED WHOOPS SORRY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachaspie/pseuds/peachaspie
Summary: “So, Kenma,” Dave straightened up in his seat while Kenma slouched down in his own, “This is therapy. Your mother said you would be coming once a week on… Thursdays, okay? This number of appointments might increase or decrease depending on how I think you’re doing.” Kenma signaled he had listened and Dave went on. “During these sessions, we are going to simply talk. It could be about many things, um, like school, relationships, social interactions, anything. This is for your benefit. If you need, or want for that matter, to tell me something, I’m all ears. I’m here to help you, Kenma. Okay?” “Yeah,” was the only word Kenma could find. A part of him desperately wanted to be okay with therapy, he wanted someone to talk to, to make him feel wanted, but… why couldn’t he just be left alone? “Let’s get started then.”





	1. The Fifth Door on the Right

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever posted on ao3 and it's also the first fanfiction I've ever written. Ever. Except for that one time, but I don't talk about that...

When Kuroo told, it was chaos. Yelling, screaming, crying. Kenma didn’t think he could ever recover from that. It was all so much--too much--emotion. There was so much he felt, and so much got out that he felt even more empty inside then he ever did. 

Kenma still hadn’t spoken to Kuroo. He had betrayed him after all, and that’s not what best friends do. But Kenma knew it would happen eventually; people always left him eventually. 

He was sitting on the plush chair in the corner of the waiting room. The nice lady at the front desk called out a name every couple minutes. Kenma figured there must’ve been more shrinks through that door than how many family members had visited him in the hospital. That was a lot. He watched people disappear in and float out of that door, and it scared him. There was so much that could happen in the hour and a half he would be sitting in there. 

“Kozume Kenma?” The nice lady’s voice said his name, and he suddenly became aware of his pounding heartbeat and dry mouth. He stood up quicker than he should’ve, but he pushed past the black spots clouding his vision, and trudged to the front desk. 

The nice lady was prettier up close than far away. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her black glasses brought out her space-blue eyes. Her nails were bitten at while the rest of her looked collected. 

She smiled widely and pushed up her glasses with her middle finger. “Are you Kozume?” 

Kenma nodded stiffly in reply, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. 

“Hello, it’s great to meet you. I take it it’s your first time?” She barely seemed to notice Kenma nod once more as her eyes drifted to the paper in front of her, frantically searching for his name. “Oh, here we are. It looks like… it’s the fifth room to the right. Got it?” 

Kenma gave her a weak appreciative smile, thanking her. 

The door to the hallway with many doors had haunted him the entire time he had sat in the waiting room, and, to be honest, he didn’t know if he wanted to go through it. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. 

The nice lady was right about the fifth door to the right. Inside was a short, slightly overweight man sitting at a modern desk in a wheely chair. He was balding slightly, his head was shiny compared to his thin blonde hair, and his glasses made him look older than he probably was. 

“Hi, are you Kuzume?” He asked, smiling. 

Kenma nodded, closing the door behind him. “You can call me Kenma,” he mumbled under his breath.  
The therapist nodded, still giving him that same smile. “Well, my name is Dave, and I think you’ll be seeing me for the next couple weeks.” 

“I assume so…” Kenma tapped his fingers inside his pockets anxiously. 

Dave gestured him to sit down, so Kenma sat in the chair closest to the door. It was a quick escape. 

The space was fairly small, about the size of Kenma’s tiny kitchen. There were two lamps with enough light to illuminate the room. Dave had a clipboard resting on his lap along with a black ink pen that looked new. 

“So, Kenma,” Dave straightened up in his seat while Kenma slouched down in his own, “This is therapy. Your mother said you would be coming once a week on… Thursdays, okay? This number of appointments might increase or decrease depending on how I think you’re doing.” 

Kenma signaled he had listened and Dave went on. “During these sessions, we are going to simply talk. It could be about many things, um, like school, relationships, social interactions, anything. This is for your benefit. If you need, or want for that matter, to tell me something, I’m all ears. I’m here to help you, Kenma. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” was the only word Kenma could find. A part of him desperately wanted to be okay with therapy, he wanted someone to talk to, to make him feel wanted, but… why couldn’t he just be left alone? 

“Let’s get started then.” 

Dave leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "What do you do at school, Kenma?" 

"Well, um," Kenma fixated his gaze on a stain in the corner of the room, "I play volleyball." 

His therapist raised his eyebrows, looking half surprised and half amused. "Do you enjoy playing?" 

"Not particularly." 

Kenma saw Dave tilt his head in the corner of his eye. "Why do you play if you don't like it?" 

He shrugged as he rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. 

Dave pressed on and on about volleyball, but Kenma only answered each question in three words or less. It was easy, and entertaining. The hole in his stomach was filling and the ice block in his chest melted a little. Even though he wasn't saying much, it seemed as if just saying a little was enough to make him feel better. Kenma knew that it was Dave's job to listen to him. Kenma knew that Dave had dozens of patients and that he was no special than the other ones, and he knew that Dave probably didn't care about school or volleyball. So why was he still here? 

There had been a couple times during the session when Kenma wanted to run. Dave brought up too many subjects Kenma didn't want to think about it, maybe because he thinks that if he doesn't think about it, the problem will go away. Dave told Kenma that his silence was a coping mechanism. Used similar to how some people use sarcasm. Sarcasm hides sadness with snarkiness, while silence hides all emotions with a blank face. There is no way to know how a person is feeling if they show no emotion at all, right? 

"You have any friends?" 

Kenma felt sick. All he could think of Kuroo. Kuroo who watched him play video games, Kuroo who made him play volleyball, Kuroo who threw away all of the pencil sharpeners. Kenma shook his head, afraid if he opened his mouth everything would spill out. 

“So, your mother mentioned a friend…?” Dave looked through his small stack of notes on his desk. “Yeah, Kuroo?” 

He tensed up. Red danger zone, red danger zone, abort, abort. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably as the ice block formed where his heart should’ve been, and the black hole in his stomach began to suck the life out of him. 

“Why don’t you tell me about him?” Dave rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. “When did you meet?” 

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Kenma said the words before he could stop them. The sudden feeling of vulnerability made him want to die. 

Dave frowned slightly. “Why not? Did something happen?” 

Kenma clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from exploding. “No, I just…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. He just wanted to leave. 

“Maybe that’s for another time?” Dave asked, writing something on his clipboard. 

“Yeah,” he said weakly, his voice cracking a little bit. Kenma darted his eyes around the room. “What time is it? Can I leave?” 

Dave looked down at his wristwatch. “It looks like… you’re right. This session ended five minutes ago.” 

Kenma let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had held. “Oh. Okay. Thanks, Dave.” He stood up slowly, forcing a small smile on his face. 

Dave’s expression looked proud of himself. Kenma wondered what he thought was so great about the pathetic conversation the two had. “I’ll see you next week, Kenma. Thursday. 5:00. Don’t forget.” 

The teenager nodded quickly and swung open the door. “See you next week.” 

~

The night was cold. It was winter. Kenma could see his breath appear in front of him before fading away. He flipped his hood over his head, bringing little warmth to his already crisp ears. For once, he wished he had bought the gloves he saw at the pharmacy. 

Kenma’s bike was still chained to the tree in front of the clinic. He dreaded the twenty-minute ride he would take to his house. His mother had a date over which she had purposely planned during Kenma’s therapy session. 

He could barely unlock the chain from his bike with his numb fingers and he had already become out of breath from doing so. The winter was harsh; too harsh for Kenma. He preferred fall over winter any day. He clutched the handle bars and was about to hop onto his bike when he heard a voice. Kuroo’s voice. 

“Kenma!” It was coming from behind him. Kenma felt his walls goes up and he felt nothing except for an all-too-familiar stabbing feeling in his chest. He hesitantly rested his bike against the tree turned around. 

Kuroo was wearing sweats and a white t-shirt, and his ears and nose were bright red at the tips. “Hey,” he breathed out, panting heavily. 

Kenma crossed his arms. “Did you run here?” 

Kuroo nodded quickly as he bended over, trying to catch his breath. 

“Idiot,” Kenma muttered letting his arms fall to his sides. 

Kuroo straightened, making him a full head taller than him. “Excuse me? I did this for you.” 

Kenma resisted the urge to bite the inside of his mouth, and instead rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.” 

He looked surprised at Kenma’s response. “We haven’t spoken in almost a week. Do you not want to talk to me?” 

Kenma turned around, hiding his pained expression. “Not really.” 

“What?” Kuroo’s voice was coated with disbelief. “I thought you would want to talk to me. I’m trying to help you.” 

“Yeah, well it’s not working.” Kenma shot back, biting his tongue after the words left his mouth. He needed to get out of there. It was too much, too much emotion, too much trying to hide it. “I have to go home.” Kenma finally spoke after a long silence between the two. 

He heard Kuroo take a step forward, his feet scraping against the loose gravel in the parking lot making Kenma flinch. “Wait.” His voice sounded heavy. 

“I said I have to go.” Kenma grabbed his handle bars despite his frozen hands, and thrusted himself on his bike. 

“Kenma--” 

He pushed forward and pedaled. 

“Kenma!” Kuroo’s voice cracked, and Kenma didn't stay long enough to hear his cries. 


	2. The Night at the Train Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was so sick and tired. He was sick of his mother, whose only real interest was sex. He was sick of Kuroo, whose only real interest was volleyball. He was sick of Dave, who only wanted the money he would be getting from each session. And he was sick of himself. He was pathetic. He couldn’t do anything except cut himself and get shitty grades. Maybe he hadn’t realized it before, but he realized it now. There was stopping it. It being everything. Kenma couldn’t stop his mother, he couldn’t stop Dave, and there was no way in hell he could stop Kuroo. But he could stop himself. He was so tired. Just tired. He could fall asleep. And never wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide, self-harm. I'm sorry I'm posting this super late. It's super angsty, and I've been procrastinating I finished it like ten minutes ago save me. I hope you like it thoughhh..

Kenma didn’t know why he went back to the clinic the next Thursday. He hated therapy, he hated Dave, he hated the cold bike ride there and back, so why was he going? 

“Kenma,” his mother had brushed his hair out of face gently, like she used to do when he was a toddler, “I need you to get better.” 

Kenma seriously doubted that his mother even cared about him, but he went to the appointment anyway, and that’s how he found himself back in the same plush chair in the corner of the waiting room. 

There was only one kid in the waiting room that wasn’t there the week before. He had memorable orange-red hair. Kenma couldn’t see his face clearly (it was buried in his hands), but he looked about the same age as he was. He wondered why he had been out in there--in therapy. 

About seven or eight people had been called into the ominous door that led to the hallway of more doors, and five or coming already, and his name hadn’t even been called. For once, he wished he was at volleyball. He had managed to avoid all of the practices since Kuroo told. At first, everyone on the team understood that something was up, but it wasn’t long until he had almost been bombarded by his teammates.

“Kozume Kenma?” The nice lady called his name, erupting his thoughts. 

He hesitantly raised himself from the seat and gave the nice lady a nice smile. She probably deserved it. 

Dave was sitting in the same position he was sitting when Kenma saw last. Slouching back in his wheely chair. 

“Hey, Kenma,” he greeted, straightening his posture a bit. 

Kenma nodded in reply and sat down in the chair closest to the door. 

Dave smiled brightly and pushed up his glasses. “So,” he folded his hands together, “How was your day?” 

“I don’t know.” Kenma chewed on the inside of his cheek, shrugging. “Okay, I guess.” 

His therapist raised his eyebrows. “You guess, huh?” 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and decided to cooperate. “It was… uneventful.” 

“Is that a good thing?” Dave asked as he grabbed some papers off his desk and clipped them to a clipboard. 

Kenma shrugged again, biting harder on his cheek. In reality, it wasn’t really an uneventful day. His three-day clean streak had been lost, and he really just wanted to die. 

He heard Dave let out a sigh, and Kenma shifted his focus from his shitty day to him. 

“Kenma,” Dave leaned forward, “I know this is your second session, but, I’m going to tell you this right now, you need to start talking to me.” 

It was weird seeing a serious expression plastered onto Dave’s face. 

“I know it’s hard to learn how to talk to people, especially some stranger, but I really want to help.” 

Kenma could feel himself growing uncomfortable under Dave’s stare. To be honest, Kenma didn’t feel comfortable under anyone’s stare, but this was making him anxious. He averted his gaze to a stain on the cream-colored carpet. How would a stain get there?

“Welp,” Dave said, clapping his hands together once, “On a slightly lighter note, I have exciting news.” 

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“My bowling team won the championships!” 

Kenma felt the corner of his mouth etch into a smile. “Wow, Dave. That's great.” 

Dave grinned brightly. “See, we have something in common.” 

Kenma connected the dots. “A sport?” At Dave's enthusiastic nod, Kenma had to stop himself from asking if bowling was considered a sport. 

“It's nice to be on a team…” Dave’s face lost some of its brightness. “What's your team like?” 

Kenma’s smile shrunk back into a thin line, and he felt himself shrug. 

“Are you guys any good?” Dave asked, tapping his pen on his clipboard softly. 

He shrugged again. “We’re not… bad, I guess.” 

“You're setter, right?” Dave leaned forward in his seat, seemingly interested. “How’s that going? You've been attending practices?” 

Kenma tensed up and shoved his hands into his pockets, toying with the small razors inside of them. “Yeah,” he lied smoothly. 

Dave raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you would skip out, you know, with what's been going on.” 

“And what's been going on?” Kenma hissed, glaring his eyes. 

Dave's face was soft. Too soft. Like he cared. “Kuroo has been here to talk with me.” 

Kenma couldn't help but inhale sharply at his name. This hurt, it hurt, it hurt too much. 

“Why you're here, Kenma… it's not uncommon.” 

His eyes darted to the door. 

“It's okay to talk about it.” 

He could escape right now. 

“You need to talk about it.” 

He wanted to cut. 

“And you need your friends. You need Kuroo.” 

“I don't need him.” Kenma stood up, his eyes watering. “Bye.” He opened the door and left before anyone would stop him. 

The boy who had been crying in the waiting room was gone when Kenma past through. 

The night seemed colder that night than the week before. His insides felt like they were freezing to death. 

Kenma darted his eyes around the parking lot. No Kuroo. No bike either. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. 

~ 

Kenma got home earlier that his mother would have liked him to. He could see her and a mystery man eating at the dining table. Kenma had forgotten it had been there. His mother and him never ate together. 

Kenma sighed, watching his breath stick to the air before dissolving into nothingness. He raised his numb hands over the top of the rough wooden fence that surrounded their back porch. 

He swung himself over, scraping himself against the wood before hitting the ground. Kenma cursed quietly as he poked the raw spot on his knees. 

He tried to shrug off the pain and hurried to the back door, narrowly missing the wind chimes that hung low from the roof. Kenma’s mother went through phases where she would buy a lot of one item, claiming that it was “in style”. That was probably the reason they didn’t have much to eat these days. 

The back door was, to Kenma’s relief, unlocked. The memories Kuroo sneaking in late on school nights, bringing candy and cigarellos flooded back. Kenma didn’t smoke, but Kuroo always brought in case he would ever want any. Which he never did. The back door was a perfect way to get in, since it was closest to Kenma’s room and farthest from his mother’s. It was exhilarating to be apart of. 

He shook the thoughts away as he closed the door gently behind him. Kenma blocked out the muffled giggles from the dining room, and stumbled to his bedroom. 

Someone had turned the lights on. He felt unnecessary panic rise out of his throat. It was probably his mom, it was probably his mom, it was probably just his mom. 

But what if it was Kuroo? That was ridiculous. No way. It was just his anxiety. 

Kenma stumbled to his messy desk, fumbling for anything. He got his hands the loose Advil pills he had gotten out a couple weeks before, and took them dry. 

He changed out of his light jacket into his heavy one and grabbed the only gloves he could find. This was over. No more anxiety. No more depression. No more Kuroo. 

Kenma snuck out of the house again, this time, locking the door behind him. He wasn’t coming back. 

The door to the fence could only be opened from the inside, and it opened with a loud creak. He doubted his mother could hear. 

Part of him dreaded the walk, but he probably wouldn't have taken his bike anyway. Where he was going, he didn’t need it. The gravel alley slid uneasily below Kenma’s shoes--it wasn’t likely the bike would do much anyway. 

He was so sick and tired. He was sick of his mother, whose only real interest was sex. He was sick of Kuroo, whose only real interest was volleyball. He was sick of Dave, who only wanted the money he would be getting from each session. And he was sick of himself. He was pathetic. He couldn’t do anything except cut himself and get shitty grades. Maybe he hadn’t realized it before, but he realized it now. There was stopping it. It being everything. Kenma couldn’t stop his mother, he couldn’t stop Dave, and there was no way in hell he could stop Kuroo. But he could stop himself. He was so tired. Just tired. He could fall asleep. And never wake up. 

Kenma had arrived at the train tracks. Who knew train tracks could mean so much to a person? 

He and Kuroo had been there before. It would be three in the morning. The night was warm and you could only see the stars in the sky. But the night was cold now. And the stars are being blocked out by the city lights, because people can’t stand the thought of something else up there. 

He stepped onto the train tracks, almost tripping against the wooden boards. Kenma let out a long exhale before sitting down on the tracks. He said his final words. And then he went to sleep.


	3. Kuroo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door of the clinic swung open, catching Kuroo’s eye. It was a red-head. Well, more like an orange-head. He was really small. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kuroo watched him approach the tall oak that Kenma’s bike was rested on. What was this kid doing? The shorty was just staring at Kenma’s bike like he was gonna… oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm sorry. It's been weeks since I've posted a chapter. I feel super bad, but you know what, I finished this chapter like a week ago and forgot to post it, so it's not like I threw this together. I hope, hope, HOPE that I wrote this. It's written in Kuroo's POV, something I've never done before, and I don't really know if I got him right or not. Please tell me if I can improve, so next time, I can write him better. Also, I'm really going to make an effort to post more... Thanksgiving Break is coming up next month, and if I don't write more now, I'll definitely write more then. Thanks.

Kuroo was worried about Kenma. He knew he had begun… self-harming again. He could just tell, you know. He had been convinced, since the day he had met Kenma, that they were connected. Intellectually. Kenma called it bullshit, Kuroo called it the facts. 

 

He could still remember the first time Kenma had worn the same grey jacket for the third day in a row. When Kuroo asked to see his wrists, Kenma lashed out for the first time since they were kids. It had left him speechless. The past few years had been rough for both of them. Kenma’s depression had worsened by 200%, while pressures from school had sent Kuroo’s anxiety through the roof. They had been broken together, never separable. 

 

At first, Kuroo thought that telling Kenma’s mom had been the right thing, but… maybe it was making Kenma worse. He tried to shake those thoughts away, but it was hard. 

 

Kuroo stared blankly at the front door of Kenma’s house. Kenma had left a few minutes ago, and he needed to do something. He hesitantly knocked on the door with one hand and gripped the handle of his backpack in the other. 

 

Kuroo could hear Kenma’s mother shuffling around inside. 

 

“Who is it?” Her voice called out, a little edge on it. 

 

Kuroo took a deep breath. “Hey, it’s, um, Kuroo.” 

 

She swung open the door, looking slightly disappointed. “You just missed him. Maybe come back tomorrow?” Her makeup looked fresh, but her face looked tired. Kuroo always thought that Kenma looked like his mother. They had the same golden eyes. 

 

“Actually, I came by to drop off a project that Kenma left at school,” Kuroo lied smoothly, shifting his weight from foot to the other. 

 

Kenma’s mother’s frown disappeared as quickly as it came. “Oh. Well, just take it to his bedroom.” 

 

Kuroo nodded, flashing her a sincere smile. “Thanks.” He stepped into the house, the smell of lavender candles hitting him hard. A couple months before, all Kenma’s mother would buy were candles. She had even given Kuroo some.

 

“Make it quick, Kuroo,” he heard Kenma’s mother call down the hall as he slipped past the back door. “I’m expecting company.” 

 

Kuroo opened Kenma’s bedroom door and clicked the lights on. His room was mess as usual. He remembered when Kenma would be pissed if his room had one thing out of place. A sad smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he recalled the memories of himself purposely screwing up Kenma’s room to bother him. 

 

He missed him. He loved him. Kuroo couldn’t ignore the pain like Kenma could. It usually all came out through volleyball. He had read somewhere that exercise was a good medication for depression. That might’ve been what influenced him to get Kenma into volleyball. After Kenma’s dad left, he had become more… detached. Kuroo didn’t think that Kenma had really gotten over it ye. 

 

Kuroo let his backpack slip out of his grasp. He needed to find something. Last time he had been here, the lighter he had had for months dropped between Kenma’s bed and the wall. Kuroo was high out of his mind at the time, and eventually forgot all about it. 

 

The doorbell rang. 

 

“Shit…” he mumbled to himself. Kema’s mother was about to kick him out. 

 

Kuroo pulled the bed out from against the wall easily. His lighter stood out like a sore thumb, and it was right where he had thought it would be. 

 

“Kuroo, you need to leave,” Kenma’s mother poked her head into the room and raised an eyebrow at the sight of it. “Trashed, of course.” She looked back at Kuroo and narrowed her eyes slightly. “My company is here, leave quickly and leave through the backdoor.” 

 

He nodded slipping his lighter into his pocket. “I’m going now.” 

 

She didn’t reply. Kuroo could hear her heels clacking against the wood floor hurriedly. He grabbed his backpack and shut the door behind him, smiling slightly at the feeling of the lighter in his pocket. It was the first time he had felt relief in weeks. 

 

~

 

It smelled very weedy in Kuroo’s mom’s car. He was hot-boxing. His eyes and throat burned, but it felt good. He needed to relax, loosen up. He was parked in the parking lot of the clinic. The CD seemed to play the best song he had heard in years. The topic of the song? He had no idea. The words were too British and mumbled to understand. Kenma had showed him the band. The music was just light. He took another hit and let out a cough-laugh. He felt light. 

 

The door of the clinic swung open, catching Kuroo’s eye. It was a red-head. Well, more like an orange-head. He was really small. 

 

Kuroo watched him approach the tall oak that Kenma’s bike was rested on. What was this kid doing? The shorty was just staring at Kenma’s bike like he was gonna… oh. 

 

He swung the door of his car open. “Hey!” 

 

The kid jumped and turned on his heel. He looked like a deer in the carlights. Or headlights. Or whatever. 

 

“What’re you doing, man?” Kuroo slammed his door shut and begun to walk forward. 

 

Orange-head just kind of stared. 

 

It made Kuroo want to laugh. Was he really that intimidating? Why was anyone even friends with him? 

 

“Did you hear me?” He asked, getting a better look at him. The kid was short up close too. His hair was bright and messy, while his eyes looked raw from crying. “Oh.” Kuroo stopped, instant guilt setting in. “Are you okay?” 

 

The kid nodded slowly, wiping at his eyes. “Y-yeah,” he hiccuped, “I’m, uh, chill.” 

 

Kuroo let out a loud laugh. Chill? “You don’t look like it.” He grinned. “Wanna smoke?” 

 

“What?” His big brown eyes widened. 

 

“Smoke?” Kuroo pointed in the direction of his car. “Like… weed.” 

 

The kid stared again. “Uh… no thanks.” 

 

Kuroo shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The silence between them made Kuroo very uncomfortable than usual. “So, uh,” he cleared his throat, “What are you doing with Kenma’s bike?” 

 

“Who’s Kenma?” His brown eyes were full of lies. “What bike?”

 

A long sigh escaped Kuroo as he slowly shook his head. “The owner of the bike you were staring at five seconds ago.” 

 

“Oh…” the kid stuffed his hands into the pockets of his maroon hoodie and averted his gaze to the ground. “Sorry.” 

 

“Don’t worry about it, fam,” Kuroo watched his breath slink away into the sky, “Woah.” He shook his head. “So, who’re you?” 

 

The kid kicked at the gravel. “Hinata.” 

 

“Kuroo,” he flashed him a smile and held out his hand. “Need a ride?” 

 

Hinata looked up sharply, no hesitation in his eyes. “Yeah, I do, actually.” 

 

~

 

Kuroo and Hinata had been driving around for almost thirty minutes. He had told Kuroo that he needed to get home after the end of his session. Apparently poor Orange Head had a mental breakdown after taking after taking all AP classes. 

 

“PreAp was just so much easier, you know?” Hinata sighed and rested his elbow on the handle of the door. “I feel like a failure.” 

 

“Hey,” Kuroo punched his shoulder, “You have to fail, before you can prevail.” 

 

Hinata ignored him. “But I have to stay positive. Optimism makes me feel better, so I just kept putting things off, telling myself it was going to be okay, but it wasn’t okay.” 

 

“Optimism is a person’s greatest enemy.” 

 

“Anyway,” Hinata turned to Kuroo, half smiling. “Who’s Kenma?” 

 

Kuroo decided to not acknowledge the sudden pit growing in his stomach. “A friend. Who’s pissed at me.” 

 

“Oh,” Hinata looked back through the window, “I have a friend like that.” 

 

Curiosity killed the cat. “Really? Tell me about them.” 

 

“Well,” Kuroo saw Hinata chew on the inside of his cheek--just like Kenma did when he was nervous, “We are on the same volleyball team and… and I didn’t tell him I was having problems. Now he’s mad at me, so…” 

 

A grin crept onto Kuroo’s face. “Oh my god, that’s, like, exactly what happened with Kenma. Kind of.” His smile shriveled into nothing. “He did something,” he started, choosing his words carefully, “That he shouldn’t have, and I told some people, because, you know, that’s what best friends do, but… that’s not what he wanted. And now he won’t talk to me, so.” This was the worst high of his life. It just made him depressed.

 

“I’m sorry, Kuroo.” Hinata’s voice dropped a bit and it was sick of sympathy. 

 

Kuroo shook his head, forcing a happy face. “Don’t even try to pity me, dude. Where do you want to be dropped off? You’re lucky I’m not charging you with gas money.” 

 

Hinata let out a small laugh. He looked relieved. “Just, uh, you know that playground with the, like, super tall tower and the toy rockets?” 

 

“Yep.” Memories of bringing Kenma there on warm Sunday nights flashed back. 

 

“Yeah, if you could drop me off there, it would be great.” Hinata’s leg was bouncing up and down. 

 

Kuroo was beginning to feel like Kenma with all the observing he was doing. “You okay?” 

 

Hinata glanced down at his leg and clamped it still with his hands. “Yeah, yeah, totally.” He loosened his grip and leaned back in the passenger seat. “I just really don’t want my grandma to find out I skipped.” 

 

“Oh.” Kuroo felt like he was about to cross the line of boundary, but… “How come you skipped?” 

 

Hinata opened his mouth before clamping it shut again. He shrugged. 

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, brushing his hair out of his face. “I shouldn’t have asked that.” 

 

“N-no, no, it’s fine!” Hinata smiled brightly. “It’s just that… Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurt?” 

 

Kuroo nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

 

“The topic of my friend--the one I told you about--came up during therapy, and I don’t want to think about him. It sucks enough that I think about him hating my guts, but to have to talk about it? No way. Remember optimism? That’s what I like.” 

 

Kenma and Hinata seemed pretty similar. The only real difference was their personalities. Kenma was quiet and more collected. Kenma wouldn’t have gotten a ride from a complete stranger. Hinata did. 

 

Kuroo felt himself sober as he drove down the empty roads. He wished he could do this more often. It was like… it was like he had been missing something, but the moment the sun went down and everyone turned their lights out, he saw everything. It turned out that he was missing everything. He had fucked up. He should’ve done things differently. Kuroo gripped the steering wheel tighter as he turned down one last road, a pit forming in his stomach. He needed to find Kenma.

 

“It looks like we’re here.” Kuroo pulled into the parking lot of the playground. The red and green rocket still stood in the middle of the place. He and Kenma used to climb on top of it and dream of conquering the world. 

 

Hinata stared out of the window and hesitantly swung open the car door. “Thanks,” he said behind his shoulder. His voice was different now. Like he was about to conquer the world.


End file.
